A/N: This is a story that has been turning over in my head for quite a few days. I just had to get it down on paper. I hope you enjoy it! R&R please! Oh, yes, there are slight HBP spoilers, just fair warning!

If you asked anyone at Hogwarts to describe Professor Minerva McGonagall, the consensus would have been that she was a strong, disciplined woman, who did not let her feelings interfere with her work. That image did not fit the woman who now sat by the fireplace, her hands clutching tightly to the tattered poetry book like a lifeline. A fire blazed, creating a flickering of shadows over the stone walls, on which her eyes were fixed unseeingly. Her long silvery hair, ignored for days, spilled over her shoulders in a tangled mess. Minerva could not even contemplate picking up a hairbrush. She simply didn't care. Who cared what her hair looked like when he was gone? She released a shuddering breath, tears pricking her eyes again. She was sure that she had cried a river of tears by now, and was doomed like Alice, to sink or swim in her own tears. If she had to choose at that moment, it would have been to sink. Closing her eyes, she brought a hand up to her mouth, trying to keep the sobs from escaping.

A knock thundered in the silence of the room. Wiping her eyes, she looked toward the door, and croaked out, "Go away." Her voice sounded weak and she tried to remember the last time she'd had anything to drink. The door scraped open and a tousled raven-haired head peeked around the corner, green eyes staring at his professor in concern. Stepping into the room, he closed the door behind him and faced Minerva.

"Excuse me, Professor?" Harry asked in a hesitant voice.

Minerva rubbed her eyes, leaning her hand on the arm of the chair. "What is it, Harry?" she asked wearily, exhausted from the effort it took to speak those few words.

Harry shifted slightly, and paused. The sight of the usually strong woman was throwing him. He, Ron, and Hermione had made a plan to coax Minerva out of her room, where she had been holed up for the past few days, and somehow he had been appointed as the messenger. But now, coming face to face with such raw, choking pain, he was unsure of what to say.

Minerva lifted her head and eyed the quiet boy. She watched his transparent face, the thoughts and emotions clearly visible. She grimaced. Some things still remained the same, no matter what tragedy took place.

"Harry?"

He looked her in the eyes and swallowed, his own pain evident. Minerva bit her lip as fresh tears sprang to her eyes. She was not going to cry in front of Harry, regardless of the fact that they were both struggling with the loss of a loved one.

"I-I'm, that is to say, we're all worried about you. We haven't seen you in three days." His eyes flickered over to the untouched tray of food on the nearby table. "Dobby says you haven't been eating properly either." He dropped his eyes to the floor, suddenly fascinated by the pattern of her carpet. "We all lost him, Professor, and we understand what you are going through." He lifted his eyes and pierced her with his burning gaze, "I truly understand, I do," His voice dropped to a near whisper. "But we need you. We don't know what to do. I know that Professor Dumbledore would not want you to hole up in your room, refusing to see anyone."

Minerva looked back into the fire, the truthfulness of his words stabbing her heart. Albus would not have wanted her to sit here and waste away. He was a fighter and he would have expected her to be a fighter as well. Hearing the door close, she turned back to see that Harry had disappeared. What reason would he have to stick around? He had said what he had needed to say.

She caressed the tattered book in her lap, her eyes softening as she remembered Albus' long, tapered fingers flipping though the book, as he sought out the poems he wanted to share with her. She could hear his rich voice echoing in the room as he read Whitman, Shakespeare, Browning, and on the rare occasion, Poe. Although, she knew that he had read Poe for her enjoyment only. He couldn't understand her love of Poe's metaphors or imagery, but still he read it.

She opened the book and was startled to see a single sheet of parchment tucked between the pages of the last poem that he had read to her. With trembling hands, she picked up the parchment and stared at it. She would recognize his handwriting anywhere. Turning toward the fire, her brow creased in consternation. She had just read this book last night and she knew that this was not in here then. How had he slipped it in there? Focusing on the paper, the words seemed to blur on the page. She blinked her eyes, trying to will her tired, strained eyes to read the precious words that could say, and offer, so much.

My darling Minerva,

By the time you read this, I will have left you. I never meant for things to turn out this way, but it was the only course of action to preserve the Order. Believe me, when I tell you, that this was planned. Severus did not betray us. He was following my instructions, rather reluctantly I may add, when he did what he did. I trust that you will share with the other members of the Order his part in my plans.

This decision would have been easy, had it not been for one thing. You, my precious Minerva. The only hesitation I had was the fact that I would have to leave you. You have become the brightest light in my life, and leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. However, I did it for the greater good, and I know, my love, that you are strong enough to fight through the pain our separation will undoubtedly cause. Never doubt my love for you. Every moment I spent with you was the greatest moment of my life, and I will treasure each and every one forever.

All my love,

Albus

P.S. I left you a message on page 295.

Tears coursed down her cheeks, dampening the collar of her gown. Wiping them away with the back of her hand, she opened up the book to page 295. She scanned the page noticing a section that had been underlined. Reading in her soft voice, she smiled for the first time in three days.

"But our love was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we-

Of many far wiser than we-

And neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:"

In the margins, she saw that Albus had written "I finally understand what you see in Poe. Love, A".

Closing the book, she kissed the cover, placing it gently on the table. Minerva stood up and made her way into the bathroom. She would need to look presentable, for she was needed to continue what Albus had started, what he had been willing to die for.

The section of poetry was taken from Edgar Allan Poe's "Annabel Lee", which I highly recommend that you read.